


you make my heart spin sorrow into silk

by dewdrops



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:26:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewdrops/pseuds/dewdrops
Summary: They don’t talk much. There’s usually something to be said about not having to force conversation to feel comfortable, but it’s mostly just that Even doesn’t think he has the capacity to force anything. And Isak. Isak’s sitting beside him, breathing clouds of smoke into the air.“Is it midnight yet?” Even asks.Isak gets out his phone. “Twenty-one minutes left.”★Isak and Even meet at a New Year's Eve party.





	you make my heart spin sorrow into silk

**Author's Note:**

> title from giselle's "silk". quick something that's been sitting in the drafts for a looooong time. happy 2019!

_December 31, 2015_

Knowing the signs is key. 

He recognizes the way his thoughts race past at the same pace as the cars below, leaving streaks of illumination in their wake. It’s like he’s watching the scene unfold in slow motion, yet everything else feels so fast. The perpetual thrum of the music, the rate at which his beer has vanished. He hasn’t stopped drinking since he got to the party.

This feeling. He’s familiar with it; the weightlessness, how every decision he makes feels inconsequential. He’s familiar with it, though he doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand what he’s meant to do now that it’s here. 

Sonia thinks she knows. 

She’s telling him things, one hand clasped around his wrist and the other beneath his jaw. “Even, Even,” she’s saying. She’s the voice that tells him to stay by her side, concerned and persistent. So persistent that he considers indulging her. 

He knows how the night would end if he were to stay — that’s what she wants. She wants to stay in this room until she manages to convince him that it’d be best to leave the party. She wants to kiss beneath a traffic light when she realizes it’s past midnight, and she wants to head back to his place. 

He knows how she wants the night to end. He doesn’t know how _he_ wants the night to end. 

She’s talking, but her voice is drowned out. The same song has been playing since she’d dragged him into the bedroom. 

He’s not sure what he’s looking for tonight. He’s not sure of much, only that this feels a lot like slipping and he wants to find something to hold onto before he falls. He presses his lips to her temple and tells her he’ll be back when he’s found it. 

His feet carry him as far as the bottom of the staircase, where his search comes to a premature end. 

“Even, bro,” someone’s saying, and there’s a phone’s flashlight in his face. 

He squints at the boy with the buzzed hair behind the phone. 

“New Years special for the channel,” Elias tells him. “Do something crazy.” 

The faceless YouTube channel with zero videos and zero subscribers that he and Elias had created while fucking around in school comes to mind. “Something crazy,” he repeats, his eyes flitting around the room. 

“Something wild,” Elias says, and there’s a distinct slur to his words. He’s drunk. “Can’t let the eighteen people who’re gonna watch this down.” 

Even thinks that estimate may be too generous, but he doesn’t say so. “Where’s Mikael?” 

“Kitchen.” 

He only realizes how crowded it’s gotten until he has to fight his way to the kitchen. By the time he’s made it, there’s sweat beading on his forehead and a red stain on the arm of his shirt. 

When he spots Mikael leaning on the counter, he knows the fight was worth it. Mikael has an elbow on the counter, and he’s talking to some kids from school. They’re familiar faces with names that Even isn’t interested in trying to remember.

It’s like making it home after a long day. His eyelids are drooping from exhaustion, and there’s an ache in his upper back indicative of being slumped over a desk for hours. His feet have carried him all the way to his bedroom. All he needs to do is get into bed. 

There’s a vile between his fingers that holds the antidote to all the confusion and pain he’s been feeling. All he needs to do is drink. 

He grabs a can of beer from the fridge on his way over. He thinks his heart is keeping time with the bass, its thump a deafening song that plays in his ears only. 

Mikael looks up at him, and the fluorescent bulbs fixed on the ceiling are in his eyes. “Is that for me?” he asks, his lips stretched into a grin. 

The beer is cool in Even’s hand, but something tells him it wasn’t put in the fridge too long ago. It’s only just enough to stave off the sweat pooling in his palm as he tries to keep up with his own thoughts. “It could be,” he answers. He cocks his head, wondering if the smile on his face could say everything for him. “I didn’t know you were drinking.” 

Mikael’s eyes the people he’d been talking to, who’ve since diverted their attention. “You could’ve grabbed me a Coke, man.” 

Some of the liquid pools on top of Even's can as he opens it, and he wipes his fingers on his jeans. “I don’t think there’s any Coke in here,” he says. “At least, not that kind.” 

“Do you even know who lives here?” 

Even shakes his head. “Feel kind of sorry for them, though.” 

Mikael raises his eyebrows. “No shit,” he says. “I don’t know half the people here.” 

It sounds like something from a movie, and Even’s scrambling through titles in his mind when Mikael makes a noise that breaks him from his stupor. His eyes are on something across the kitchen as he says, “I think I found someone you might recognize, though.” 

Even doesn’t think Sonia’s found them yet, if the way she’s wavering by the stove with the screen of her phone right under her nose is anything to go by. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, taking another swig from his beer before putting it down. “Let’s get out of here.” 

He doesn’t give Mikael time to respond before he starts to back away. He sees the incredulousness written all over his face, eyes narrowed as he watches Even. 

Even’s left his bed, and he can’t keep himself upright without any help. His antidote is lost, and he thinks the poison will spread before he’s able to find another. 

He’s holding his breath as he shuffles his feet. He’s starting to think he’ll pass out before he makes it to the doorway when Mikael says, “Where are we going?” 

“Wherever.” 

 

★

 

They manage to find a spot by the front door. There’s a boot wedged in-between it and the frame, and Even’s not sure if that was intentional. Either way, the cold air is a welcome change from the mustiness of an airtight house that’s long since surpassed its fire limit. 

He’s drumming his fingers against his thigh while Mikael questions him about Sonia, using every non-response he has in his arsenal. 

“You two seemed to be doing fine last week.” 

“We’re still doing fine.” Even’s testing the waters. He’s dipping the tips of his toes in, if only to check the temperature. 

“Are you sure?” 

Even doesn’t have time to answer before Mikael passes him his phone, which is opened to a conversation between him and Sonia. Or, just Sonia. She conveys her worry through grammatical missteps, and he can hear the tone of voice she’d be using if she were actually speaking the words. 

As he’s reading the first message, a second is sent. He doesn’t need to read it to know what it says. “We’re just on a break,” he mutters as he thumbs out a response he hopes will end the exchange. 

“Is that what you’re telling her right now?” Mikael asks, and when Even looks up, he has a small smile playing across his lips. The water’s up to Even’s ankles now. It’s lukewarm. “Because I don’t think she knows.” 

Even sends his reply. When he reaches out to hand the phone back, it’s snatched from his hand. His neck snaps up at the same time Adam says, “Knows what?” 

He’s appeared at Even’s side, staring at Mikael’s phone with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you change your passcode?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” Adam snorts. 

“I don’t think I need to answer that.” 

Adam opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted by Elias. “Boys.” His phone isn’t in his hand, which means that it’s likely lost between some couch cushions or in the bathroom sink. “Have any of you seen Annabelle?” 

“No.” Mikael shakes his head. 

“Oh, fuck,” Elias groans, wrapping his arm around Adam’s neck. “I thought I saw her, but I turned around and she left before she saw me.” 

“Or, maybe she left _because_ she saw you,” Adam says. 

MIkael laughs, and Even digs his fingernails into his palm. Elias lowers his gaze to the wooden floor panels, looking distraught. “Oh,” he says. 

It’s quiet until the front door swings open. They’re standing in front of it, Adam patting Elias and Mikael smiling lazily at them. “We’re blocking the door,” Even says, not because he particularly cares but because he needs this conversation to end. 

The throng of kids at the door don’t wait for them to disperse, opting to instead push their way into the house. Even moves for a boy with dark, unruly hair who’s mumbling something about bodyguards to a guy who Even thinks he might’ve bought some weed off of when he was in a pinch. 

If he didn’t have a joint weighing heavy in his back pocket, he probably would’ve asked for some more. 

He presses his elbow into Mikael’s arm, eyeing Elias and Adam who’ve somehow managed to stagger closer to the entrance of the door. 

Mikael lifts his head, and Even turns so he’s speaking directly in his ear. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’d like to make it through this night without seeing what Elias had for dinner.” 

When Mikael laughs, his breath fans out across Even’s neck. “Should we start placing bets?” 

The response isn’t exactly what Even wanted to hear, but he can work with it. “As soon as we head somewhere where we’re not at risk of being trampled to death,” he says. 

Mikael looks away, probably at Elias and Adam. After a moment, he says, “Okay.” 

 

★

 

It’s not something he’s put much thought into. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for Even to describe what he’s feeling as he watches Mikael. That’s okay, because Even doesn’t mind not being able to put it into words. Words can only get him so far. Definitions can change. 

What Even cares about are the flames that lick the bottoms of his feet. They’ll burn if he moves too quick. 

“Is this about Sonja?” 

That name, written in the pages of a book he hasn’t touched in months. It’s trapped inside cartoon hearts. Even wishes he knew a way to set it free. “A little bit of it is,” he answers. 

Mikael nods slowly. “You shouldn’t worry about it too much, man,” he says, nudging Even. “You’ll be back together on Monday.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

Mikael shrugs, and he’s so close that the movement jostles Even’s arm. “She loves you.” 

Even doesn’t know how long he has until his lungs are filled with smoke, until he doesn’t have a breath left to hold. “Aren’t you going to ask what the rest is about?” 

When Mikael parts his lips to say, “What?” Even can’t stop looking at the way his teeth glisten in the dark. 

Even can’t be bothered to think of something to say, so he just smiles. 

It’s clear that Mikael’s confused in the way the crease between his brows deepens, but he’s not moving. He’s not moving, and Even’s fingertips are numb. They shake as he shifts his weight, raises a hand. He wonders if smoothing the crease with the pad of his thumb will bring the feeling back. 

He wonders if the warmth of the blood beneath Mikael’s skin will cause his own to rush to the surface. 

Before he’s able to find out, a commotion at the bottom of the staircase snaps him out of his reverie. There’s a girl, auburn hair touching her shoulders and champagne flute in her hand. She’s bracing herself on the railing, and there’s a boy behind her. 

“If I don’t pee in the next minute.” She doesn’t finish her sentence before starting up the stairs, the boy wavering a few steps back. 

She doesn’t make it far. He watches as she loses her footing, ending up on her knees on the second step. There’s laughter spilling from her lips as she reaches up to wind her free hand around the boy’s arm. 

The boy isn’t laughing. He isn't saying anything. 

He doesn’t need to. The way his narrow shoulders are drawn tightly into his sides says enough. His hair’s so curly, falling into his eyes as he struggles to help the girl up. 

Even watches as he brushes it back like he angry with it. Or, maybe with the exonerating circumstances that led up to it falling into his eyes. 

He knows he’s watching someone who doesn’t want to be seen, but he can’t look away. Not yet. 

Beneath the superficial layers of insecurity and mild exasperation, there’s something else. Even doesn’t place it with any finality until the boy looks at him. He’s navigating the girl around the barrier him and Mikael have created, and he’s glaring at Even. 

And he’s sad. 

 

★

 

“What are you doing?” 

It isn’t the words themselves that do it. 

Mikael’s looking at him the same way his mother would when he’d kick a soccer ball inside in the house as a child. He stares at Even like he’s done something terribly wrong, his eyes big. They’re so big, and Even’s scoped them out for an ounce of warmth and come out empty-handed. 

There’s nothing. 

When Even backs into the wall farthest from Mikael, and his heart slows, there’s nothing left. It isn’t the words that do it, but it’s the way Mikael’s lamenting him with a look that definitively say he never wants to see him again. 

Even thinks he’s burning from the inside out. 

 

★

 

Even doesn’t do anything for awhile. It isn’t a conscious decision, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the tendons that run up the back of his hands. They bulge as he grips the sides of the sink, the skin flushed red against the porcelain. 

He didn’t lock the door, and he thinks that might be the only conscious decision he’s made all night. 

He wonders what would change if someone were to open it. He’s doubtful that anything would, but he wants to believe he could be proved wrong. He wants to believe one of his friends would come find him, but then he remembers that his closest friend doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

He can’t believe in much of anything. 

No one’s opening the door. There are no shadows in the hall, no familiar voices from any neighbouring rooms. He can’t hear the music anymore. 

Help isn’t going to come, and Even wishes that knowing that was enough to make him feel something.

It isn’t, and then he looks in the mirror. When he meets a pair of eyes that aren’t his own in the reflection, he’s surprised. It’s something small in a vast arena, but it’s _something_. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and he knows he’s been spotted. Eyes blown wide and mouth ajar, he’s looking at Even’s back like he’s expecting some kind of retaliation for being seen. It’s the boy from the staircase, sans drunk girl. 

It’s clear that Even’s the one who walked in on him, and he thinks he should apologize. He also thinks a lot of other things. So many things that he can’t focus on any one of them. He can’t do much aside from bear witness to the way the things he cares about most are crumbling down around him. 

Here he is, left standing amongst the rubble, staring at a stranger.

He’s not sure how long neither of them say anything, but it seems to be long enough to make the boy uncomfortable. “I’ll just-“ he trails off, pushing himself up from the side of the tub. 

The sound of a voice that isn’t the one in his head seems to momentarily quiet the chaos. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, letting go of the sink. “I was just going.” 

He breaks the prolonged bout of eye contact and turns on the faucet. He can see the boy’s reflection out of his peripheral vision as he sticks his hands under the cold stream of water. He can see that he’s not moving. Not sitting back down, but also not leaving. 

By the time Even turns the faucet off, he’s still not sure where he’s going once he leaves the bathroom. There’s no towel nearby, so he’s wiping the back of his hands on his jeans when the boy says, “You can stay.” 

Even isn’t wearing a mask. He isn’t trying to school his expression into something a little more relaxed, not like the boy. 

The boy’s emotions play out across his face in spite of the way he stares at his own feet like he’s unaffected by what’s going on around him. He doesn’t have much success in trying to hide what he’s feeling, and Even doesn’t have the will to try at all. 

Maybe that’s why Even decides to stick around a little longer. “I’ll take it your friend made it the bathroom,” he says. 

The boy’s surprised, like he hadn’t thought Even would’ve remembered him. “Oh, Eva,” he says, bobbing his head. “Yeah, she did.” 

“That’s good.” Even leans against the sink, watching the boy. “The only thing worse than one person pissing on the stairs would be two people pissing on the stairs.” 

Even doesn’t know what he’d been trying to accomplish, but he feels like he’s done whatever it is when the boy wrinkles his nose. “Someone pissed on the stairs?” 

“I don’t know.” 

The boy looks confused. “Okay.” 

Even makes his way to the bathtub before he can talk himself out of it. “Would you blame them for it, though?” he asks, sinking down into the tub. “It’s not like there’s an abundance of unoccupied bathrooms around here.” 

It’s the first time Even’s seen this boy. Before tonight, he hadn’t seen annoyance give way to something a little less cruel. The boy laughs, but it’s so short Even’s convinced it’s something his mind fabricated in an effort to console himself. 

Even wants to hear it again. “I don’t know why they don’t just go outside.” 

The boy doesn’t laugh, but he sits back down in the tub. He’s wringing his hands, mirroring Even’s position. “It’s too cold.” 

“Don’t tell me you were the one who pissed on the stairs.” 

After what had happened tonight, Even hadn’t pictured himself trying to get someone to laugh. The thought of comforting anyone is five minutes shy of seeming ridiculous. His hands are still red from when he’d been too consumed in own problems to attempt to understand anyone else’s. 

The boy looks at him. He’s starting to smile when the bathroom door opens. 

Reality immediately starts seeping through the crack, and Even wants more than anything to seal it shut before it’s too late. But he can’t, not when there’s a girl in the bathroom and another leaning against the doorframe. 

The sounds of the party give the air weight, and it becomes increasingly heavy until it’s got his legs pinned against the side of the tub and his arms stuck to his sides. He can do little more than try to meet the eyes of the girl in the doorway, as if he could convey his panic in a way she’d understand. 

The girl isn’t looking at him, though. She’s looking beside him. “Isak,” she’s saying, apparently surprised. 

Naming the boy hadn’t seemed important until she does it. She says it, and something shifts. Or, Isak does, moving farther away from Even in the tub. 

“Hey.” 

“Sara said you weren’t coming tonight.” 

If Even wasn’t sitting so close, he might’ve fallen victim to the charade Isak’s putting on. If he couldn’t see the way he’s balling up his hands into fists, and if he couldn’t hear the soft exhale as he opens his mouth to speak, he might've believed he didn't care. “I wasn’t going to, but Jonas dragged me.” 

“Does she know you’re here?” 

At this point, it doesn’t matter which girl asked it. Even’s too preoccupied with the slight shrug of Isak’s shoulders as he says, “Probably.” 

Even doesn’t think he’s in any shape to be talking to the boy. 

The boy is hiding. Tucked away in the bathroom at the corner of a house party, he’s in the tub. Every so often, his eyes will flit to the door, like he’s not quite sure whether or not he should stay. 

Even can’t help but feel he’s invaded a space that isn’t his. 

There’s this other thing, too. This small thing he tries to ignore; a suspicion he has that the boy wanted someone to invade his space. He wonders if Isak hesitated when shutting the door the same way he did. 

He wonders if he stared at the lock, hand still on the doorknob. If he took a moment to breathe in the quiet, a stark contrast to what was going on outside the door. He wonders if he purposefully left it unlocked. 

Even doesn’t think he should be here, talking to the boy. 

The girls leave, but the cold they let into the room stays. It eats through the hoodie tied beneath Even's chin, making his skin pebble. 

Isak’s no better off, his arms folded across his chest as he looks anywhere but Even. 

He had been saving it. Rolled by hands that shook with anticipation and sealed with his tongue, he’d slipped the joint into his pocket this morning. 

“I have something,” Even says. 

“Do you want me to guess what it is?” 

Even’s brandishing the joint before Isak’s finished his sentence.

“Oh,” Isak says, and it’s the first time Even’s seen him smile with his teeth.

There are gaps between them, but his mouth isn’t open for long enough for Even to count them. 

Isak tilts his chin upwards, smoke billowing from his lips. “I don’t know why there aren’t more people in here,” he says to the ceiling. “Best spot in the whole party.” 

Even accepts the joint when it’s blindly offered to him. “You think so?” 

“I think I know so.” 

When Even exhales, there’s some quiet laughter intertwined with the water vapour. “That doesn’t make sense.” 

Isak scowls. “It does."

There’s the bite, the fangs sinking into meaty flesh until they draw blood. And then there’s this underlying sweetness in the way Isak speaks. Soft, with a quiver to his voice that you wouldn’t hear unless you were listening for it. Words accompanied by a smile that has to fight its way onto his lips, faltering before it even wins the battle. 

The fangs are buried in Even’s skin, and they’re trying to suck out the poison. 

“I’m serious, though,” Isak says, averting his eyes. “It’s nice in here. Quiet. I don’t have to yell for you to hear what I’m saying.” 

Even shrugs. “Maybe having to yell makes you think about things before you say them.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“But do you think you know it’s not true?” 

Isak turns his head away from Even, but Even can still see the red beneath his cheeks. “Fuck off.” 

“Sorry.” 

Isak’s still looking away, flush spanning from his jaw to his clavicle, as he asks, “What’re you sorry for?” 

It isn’t the first time tonight that a question’s gotten lodged in Even’s throat. It’s four words, again. Four words is enough to make his breath catch, to make him think about everything that’s led up to this moment. 

And isn’t that the answer. _Everything_. His mother’s hand on his arm during breakfast, the sound of his father’s voice on his way out the door. He’s sorry for making them worry. Sonia, for making her feel like she has to stay when she deserves so much more. His other friends, for being too wrapped up in his own problems to ask about theirs. 

Mikael. He’s sorry for the hurt he’s caused and will cause. 

Even doesn’t trust himself to speak. He’s familiar with the feeling of wanting, of _needing_ to cry, and seemingly not having the tears to do so. That doesn’t make what he’s going through any easier. 

He passes Isak the joint, because it’s been hanging between his thumb and his forefinger for the past couple of minutes. 

If isak isn’t ignorant to the mess Even’s making in his mind as he tries to work through his thoughts, he doesn’t let it on. “I guess I just don’t like parties,” he says. 

Even doesn’t realize he’s breathing again until he sees his chest rise. He watches it fall, and then rise once more, before saying, “You came to the right place, then.” 

Isak coughs into his wrist, and then smiles at Even. His lips are sealed, but Even thinks the fangs dig a little deeper, try a little harder to coax the venom to the surface. 

They smoke until they’re shrouded in the heady feeling Sonia had been warning him about earlier. Even knows it isn’t going to help him, but he also knows being sober isn’t an option for him. There aren’t many states of existence that feel like they are options right now, and being high with Isak in this bathtub is one of the few. 

“Do you ever think about whether or not you choose to do the things you do?” Isak’s staring at the ceiling. 

“I’m glad you asked,” Even says. “Now it makes sense why you’re in here by yourself.”

“You’re here, too.” 

“Okay,” he says, sitting up straighter. “If they weren’t choices you made, what would they be?” 

“They’d just be consequences of prior events,” Isak says. “Like, everything you do would just be the result of a bunch of chain reactions.” 

“And you’d have no say in anything?” 

“No. Nothing but the illusion that you do.” 

“Do you believe that?” 

Isak steals the joint back from him. “I don’t know,” he says. “It would be a hard theory to disprove.” 

Even watches him from the opposite side of the tub as he smokes. He watches the way his eyelids droop so low that his eyelashes cast shadows on the tops of his cheeks. 

They don’t talk much. There’s usually something to be said about not having to force conversation to feel comfortable, but it’s mostly just that Even doesn’t think he has the capacity to force anything. And Isak. Isak’s sitting beside him, breathing clouds of smoke into the air. 

“Is it midnight yet?” Even asks. 

Isak gets out his phone. “Twenty-one minutes left.” 

“Twenty-one,” Even repeats. 

The numbers feel familiar when he says them. They feel like something to hold onto. 

He relaxes into the tub, the porcelain cold against the back of his neck. He remembers the boy on the staircase, remembers the same glazed eyes that are now fixated on the floor. He also remembers everything that followed, as much as he wishes he could forget. 

“If you could rewind time, where would you be right now?” 

Isak snorts softly. “Asking the important questions tonight.”

“We smoked the same joint.” It never made it to the trash, sitting in a soap dish behind their heads. “I think that means you should be able to come up with a better answer than that.” 

“I don’t know,” Isak says, like anyone does when they do know but they’d prefer not to share. “Can you not fast forward?” 

Even shakes his head, but Isak isn’t looking at him, so he says, “No.” 

“I wouldn’t go too far back, then.” 

“A couple weeks? Months?” 

“No.” Isak tucks his chin into his neck, looking at his hands in his lap. Even follows his gaze to where he’s playing with his fingers. “More like four hours.” 

“What was happening four hours ago?” 

Isak laughs. “Nothing,” he says. “Nothing worth talking about.” 

Even doesn’t know what _is_ worth talking about. Doesn’t know if anything is worth talking about. When he says, “That wasn’t a good answer,” he isn’t serious. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Isak laughs again, and that sound is the sort of thing that has Even mulling over the worth of his own words. “It wasn’t that good of a question. Being able to only rewind would mean having to repeat a bunch of shit over again.”

“You could change things you’ve done.” 

Isak’s quiet, and then he says, “I haven’t murdered anyone.” 

“That’s good.” 

Isak shrugs. “Might as well go back four hours ago when I didn’t think I’d be coming to this party.” 

“Why did you come?” Even asks, though Isak inadvertently answered this question earlier in the night. 

“I wasn’t going to, but I decided it would be better than staying home.” 

“And is it better?” 

When Isak looks at Even, his eyes are red from the smoke. “This is, like, a weird job interview or something.” 

Even wonders what his own pulse would be doing if he were to press his fingers into his wrist. “Good thing it’s not, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten the job.” 

“What?” Isak narrows his eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I definitely would have.” 

Even tilts his head, his eyes flitting between the gaps in Isak’s teeth. One, two, three, four. “Depends on the job,” he says. “But, really, getting any job when you’re crossfaded would be impressive.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. 

Quiet, again. There’s no music to submerge his thoughts in, nothing to muffle the voice that insists on providing solutions to problems that don’t exist outside of his own mind. 

He’s still in the throes of chaos, but he’s not consumed by it. Jostled in the crowd, yes. And every so often, he’ll end up on the ground, his vision obscured by everything he’s done tonight. There’s no justification for any of it, and he struggles to reconcile with his own actions. 

Bringing himself to his feet isn’t easy. It’s painful, and he’s already anticipating the next fall before he’s all the way up. But he thinks seeing this year through might be worth it. 

There’s twenty-one minutes left. Less than that, now. 

“If you didn’t come tonight, we would never have met,” he says. 

There’s another brand of pain that exists in Isak’s eyes. It’s this tangible thing that's maybe not so different from his own. It’s a tear that never escaped the duct and flushed lips pulled downwards at the corners by some invisible force. 

“We could have,” Isak says. “Somewhere else.” 

Even doesn’t think that’s right, but he won’t say so. Instead, he’ll agree with Isak. “We could have.”


End file.
